


Drivers License

by phasmophobiac



Category: DreamSMP, Minecraft (Video Game), dnf - Fandom, dream - Fandom, dreamnotfound - Fandom, drivers license - Fandom, mcyt
Genre: Break Up, DNF, Flustered Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound Visits Florida (Video Blogging RPF), M/M, dream - Freeform, dreamnotfound, still love you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:20:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28743894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phasmophobiac/pseuds/phasmophobiac
Summary: Dream. It was a name that he hadn’t shaped on his tongue for what felt like a lifetime. He’d spent so long trying to forget it, but it was so much harder to do when the face to whom it belonged to was the face pasted on the backs of his eyelids and played like a film whenever he closed his eyes. Every night felt like a different movie of memories that he just couldn’t seem to escape.After a messy break-up between Dream and George months ago while visiting in Florida, George returns to the state to give his mind some relief and to convince himself that he will be okay without Dream. But the trip doesn't go as planned.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43
Collections: Dreamnotfound fanfic





	1. White Cars

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this based on the song "drivers license" by Olivia Rodrigo. As soon as I heard the song, this was all I could think of for the rest of the week. So I finally decided to write it! I hope you enjoy it, this is my first time writing a fanfiction...ever. But I love writing, it is one of my greatest passions, and writing about two people I adore like Dream and George really should give me some great practice. Anyway, I'll stop rambling. Enjoy!1

When George turned the key and removed it from the ignition to his car, he finally allowed himself to breathe. He was in Florida. He was really here again. It had been such a long time since he’d been here, but he didn’t like to remember those days. Well, that day. Not all of them were terrible.

He inhaled the fresh scent of post-rain and freshly mown grass. He missed this smell. It smelled like home. But, of course, this couldn’t be home. This wasn’t London. Yet there was someone here who made this place always feel like a second home for George.

But he wasn’t here for that someone. He was here for himself. To prove a point. Maybe.

Fuck, George thought. Was he really here to prove a point to himself? Was he even here for himself at all?

He remembered how shaky his fingers had been when he clicked the button to purchase the plane ticket to Orlando. He remembered how he slammed the computer shut as soon as the transaction went through and fell into the warmth of his mattress, only it was oddly cold in that moment. Like it was trying to tell him, Go back. You can’t close your eyes and forget yet. Refund the money. Don’t go. But he did not listen to his mattress. He had to forget. Just for that one night.

Even as his head had hit his pillow and he closed his eyes, sleep never came. He was stuck in remembrance. Remembering how slender fingers had once slipped into his hair and brushed it out of his eyes. How he had fallen asleep on the gradually rising and falling chest of the boy he once knew.

The boy who was now only a stranger.

He remembered the gentle hum of the blond’s throat as he sung under his breath when George would pretend to sleep. He remembered how he would smile to himself into the boy’s shoulder when he thought he wasn’t looking. But he had felt the laughter vibrate through his chest and a gravelly voice say into his ear, “Go to sleep, George.”

George had opened his eyes then and lifted his head, resting his chin on the lime green sweatshirt of the boy beneath him. The hoodie almost matched the color of his eyes, only those irises were just a shade darker. Like oak leaves.

“I’m not tired,” George had said. The boy narrowed his eyes at George and George felt a laugh escape his lips. “I mean it, Dream.”

Dream. It was a name that he hadn’t shaped on his tongue for what felt like a lifetime. He’d spent so long trying to forget it, but it was so much harder to do when the face to whom it belonged to was the face pasted on the backs of his eyelids and played like a film whenever he closed his eyes. Every night felt like a different movie of memories that he just couldn’t seem to escape.

George heaved in a weary breath and ran his fingers through his dark hair. Was he sure about this? Really sure about this?

What was he talking about, of course he was. It wasn’t like he was in Florida to go see the boy who broke him. He was there to prove to himself that it was just a place. It was a place he had been dying to go back to since he’d left the first time because he’d loved it so much. It wasn’t a place that belonged to a person.

He slammed the car door behind him once he stepped out of the vehicle, and he walked. And he walked. And he walked. And he walked.

He bumped shoulders with strangers as he walked through the crowded sidewalks. He had no destination. He had no reason to be here at all, really. But still, he walked until his feet cramped in his sneakers.

He had to stop. He had to. Everything was aching. His legs were trembling. His fingers were numbing. His heart was thrumming in his chest like a drum in his ribcage.

But it was when he verged off to the side of the crowd and found a bench to sit himself down on that he instantly regretted ever doing such a thing.

A white car drove past, and he felt his heart stop abruptly, and his breath caught in his throat. It almost felt like his body curled into his mind and transported him into a moment he didn’t want to be in again.

It was a little after one a.m., and he and Dream were in Dream’s white Sedan, the music blasting through George’s ears, but it was like it was hardly there. He was only looking at the boy beside him, his blond hair billowing through the wind from the open window his arm hung out of, his right hand holding loosely to the steering wheel as his fingers drummed lightly against the leather along to the song. Even with the beauty of the night sky shimmering down on them and the harmonious blinking of red and yellow lights in the traffic of cars on the highway, George thought the boy he was looking at was the most beautiful thing in the world.

Dream had glanced over at George momentarily, and he smiled. “You’re staring,” he said in a voice like sweet honey. George loved that he was the only one who got to hear him talk like that.

George said, “I noticed.”

Dream looked over at George again, and a laugh erupted from his throat as he focused his eyes back on the road, the stars reflecting off of them. George was surprised he could still hear the laugh leave Dream’s lips over all the noise surrounding them, what with the blasting music and the car horns. But it was one of the most soothing sounds in the world that he would do anything to hear it again.

“What?” George giggled.

“You, idiot,” Dream scoffed. George rolled his eyes and focused on the road ahead of them, listening to Dream snicker next to him. “I like when you smile.”

George fought down the smile growing on his lips. He covered his mouth with his hand and turned his body to look out the window to his right, leaning his head against the cool glass, staring into the night.

Dream said almost silently, “You’re so cute,” and if George hadn’t been focusing his ears so much to the sound of Dream’s voice he wouldn’t have heard it. The music didn’t matter. The car horns didn’t matter. Only they did.

George shook his head back to reality. He picked himself up off the dusty bench and joined the walking crowd once more, only this time he was going back the way he came. And when he got into his car, he knew where he was going to go. And he knew he was going to hate himself for it.


	2. Past Your Street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George finds himself on his way to Dream's house without even thinking about it, but he doesn't know if he's ready to fall all over again.

George, you idiot, he thought to himself as he parked his car on the side of the road.

He had just driven past the street of Dream's house, and he found that he had unintentionally slowed down while driving just to look at it a little longer. It was the second house on the left side, made partly of brick and partly of a gray vinyl siding. It felt like the first time Dream had driven him down the street, his fingers shaking nervously on the wheel and his foot slamming down on the pedal so hard he was almost speeding. George had reached over and laid a hand on Dream's, caressing his thumb over it gently. "What's wrong?" he had asked gingerly.

Dream had glanced over at him as he turned into his street and said, "Nothing," to which George narrowed his eyes at him. Dream sighed. "I just...I don't want to..." He huffed in a breath and stopped the car outside of his house. He did not look at George. "What if I'm not what you want?"

George had tilted his head and leaned over, touching Dream's cheek, causing him to jump but turn to look at George all the same. George had seen a dark glow in Dream's emerald eyes, then. Like he had disappointed himself so horribly that he couldn't imagine how he would come back from it. With a comforting smile, George said, "I couldn't imagine ever not wanting you, Clay."

In that moment, George knew he was falling. And that he was only going to continue to fall. But he wasn't afraid. He wasn't afraid of falling if it meant Dream would be there to catch him at the bottom. He didn't expect that the blond boy he had learned the love would step aside and drop his arms at the very last second and leave him to plummet to the fate that awaited him all along.

How could he have known that he was going to fall so? How could he have known that he would have been betrayed as he was? He should have expected it from the beginning. He shouldn't have come to Florida in the first place. If he didn't come, he wouldn't have made so many memories that became so hard to forget. He wouldn't have created so many dreams in his head that played on loop like a broken record when he slept.

And now, as George sat parked just a street over from Dream's home, his thumb hovering over Dream's number, his hand trembling violently, he wished he could kick himself repeatedly for how stupid he was being. Why was he doing this to himself? Why was he putting himself through this when he didn't have to? He could go home right now. He could go home and forget about this whole trip.

But then there was that voice in the back of his mind that told him he wouldn't be able to forget it. That forgetting wasn't an option, because he knew that he would still be dreaming about this every night. And he knew that he would dream of this moment whatever he did, whether he saw Dream or not. He would hate himself for not seeing him, and he would hate himself if he did. Perhaps even more so.

Before he could stop himself, George pressed his finger on Dream's number, and he listened to it ring.

One ring. No answer. Maybe I should hang up.

Two rings. No answer. Hang up, George, hang up. Don't do this to yourself.

Three rings. No answer. He doesn't want to talk to you, George. So why are you calling him? He hates you.

No more rings. Only an almost silent beep, and the groggy voice of the boy George knew he was still in love with, no matter how hard he tried to force himself to not let his heart love as it does.

"George?"


	3. Home to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George and Dream have a phone call, and George remembers what used to be.

"George?"

He went still. He couldn't move. His heart ceased its rushed beating in his chest and his breath stilled in his lungs.

"George?" Dream repeated into George's ear. George's eyelids fluttered down, his lashes casting soft shadows upon his cheekbones. He missed this voice. This soft voice that would speak so lovingly into his hair and through his headphones, whether he was visiting or if they were in a Discord call with one another.

George remembered how heated his cheeks would become whenever Dream entered his voice call. He remembered the way he could hear Dream's smile through his words, and how his laugh was so contagious that he couldn't help but laugh along with him.

He remembered one specific night when they had just finished filming a manhunt. Sapnap had yawned incessantly toward the end of the recording, and both George and Dream had yelled at him to go to sleep until Sapnap was overcome with peer pressure that he agreed. And then it was just the two of them. Just George and Dream, sitting with one another in comfortable silence.

"Hey, George?" Dream had said in a gravelly voice.

"Yeah?" George had rested his chin on his hand and tapped at his cheek with his fingers idly, staring as his Discord icon glowed with the sound of his voice.

In one quick, almost indecipherable word, Dream said, "DoyouwanttocometoFlorida?"

George looked up swiftly. He tilted his head, confused. "What?"

Dream inhaled deeply and tried once more, "Do you want to come to Florida, George?" His tone was gentle, like the brush of a feather against taut skin. It felt like the taste of rain after so long in dehydration.

"Why are you asking me this now?" George asked with several hints of uncertainty in his voice. There was no reason to ask such a question, especially when it was three a.m. on a normal Tuesday in July. They had said nothing to lead them to this question. Therefore it was just a little out of the ordinary.

"I've just been thinking about it recently," Dream said carefully. "And I just thought that it would be nice to... to finally see you in person. You know?"

George heard Dream's quivering as he spoke. And he could hear how genuine he was being in this moment, how much of his heart he was pouring out into George's ears.

He smiled. "I would like to meet you, Dream. I mean that," he started slowly, attentive of his word choice. "But... I mean, are you sure?"

"Am I sure of what?" Dream asked quickly.

"Wanting to meet me," George explained.

"Why wouldn't I be sure?"

George did not answer at first. He didn't really have an answer to that, if he was being honest. But he had to say this. "I've always dreamed of becoming important to someone." He heard the catch in Dream's throat. He could sense the way he froze even as he spoke, but he couldn't seem to stop. "I never knew that I could feel so much for one person, you know. And honestly? It feels..." He paused for a moment, feeling the tears pooling in his eyes and the sob building up in the back of his throat. "It feels terrifying."

He had looked down at his hands, watching as a tear dragged down the tip of his nose and fell onto his finger. He stared at it for a moment before brushing it away absently, closing his wet lashes over his eyes. 

"You're scared of me?" Dream asked shakily from the other side of George's screen. 

George laughed devoid of emotion and said, "I'm scared of what you do to me. I'm scared of what I feel when you talk to me." 

He heard a chuckle. "You have no idea what you do to me, George." He was almost silent in the way he spoke. It warmed George to his core. 

"Is it scary?" George asked him. 

Dream laughed. "Terrifying." 

And now, as Dream's voice flowed through his ear, he didn't know what to say. He didn't know if he could say anything at all. 

"You called me," Dream said exasperatedly. He sounded almost...relieved. "I don't know why you're calling me, or if you'll even say anything to me at all, but please George, can you just say one thing to me? I need that right now, you have no idea." 

At first, George would not speak. He would not oblige whatever Dream wanted. He couldn't do it to himself. So why was he hurting himself now, listening to Dream speak softly to him like nothing changed? That wasn't true-everything had changed. And he knew that. 

"I thought about you a lot today," Dream said, startling George out of his reverie. He listened attentively as Dream continued, "I didn't mean to. I just...everything I looked at reminded me of you. And it scared me, George. It scared me how much everything in my life reminds me about you so much. Hell, I saw those stupid fucking clout goggles you wear and I thought of when you poked me in the eye with them the last time you were here." He was laughing. George could hear it. And he couldn't help it when a laugh scratched through his own throat before he could stop it. 

He knew Dream was smiling. He knew it as he said, "I missed your laugh." There was a short silence between them, the only sound the gentle buzzing of the line connecting their contacts, giving them access to speak to each other. "You probably don't remember, but there was this night when it was around three a.m. in London and it was ten p.m. here, and you laughed so hard you fell off your chair." He snickered lightly. "It was a long time ago, so I don't blame you if you--" 

"I remember," George interrupted before he could stop himself. 

They lapsed into an uneasy silence that caused George to shift awkwardly in his seat. He stared up through the sunroof of his car at the stars dotting the blanket of night in the sky. 

"Can you tell me about something, please?" George whispered, closing his eyes against the light of the moon. 

"What do you want me to tell you about?" Dream asked him in a hushed tone. 

George shrugged to himself. "Anything." 

Dream smiled through the phone. "It was Patches' birthday last week," he began. "I got her a little sweater that she fucking hated. But she grew to like it more than she did when I first put it on her." He laughed under his breath. He paused for a moment and said, "It's not too cold out tonight in Florida. It hasn't rained in about two days now, which is unusual, but it's been kind of a welcome thing since it's been raining for so long. But sometimes it feels wrong when it's not raining, you know? Like it should be, but something is preventing it. And I don't know what." 

George grinned. He remembered the night Dream had dragged him outside while it poured down on them, the heavy water droplets slamming against their faces. Dream had smiled widely as George laughed against his own will. he quickly adjusted to the feeling of the rain pooling into his clothes and running down his back. Dream had laughed hysterically at him and pulled him in for a lingering kiss that George found he was melting into. It was all salty rain and tender lips and wet skin on wet skin. 

"I miss the rain," George said absentmindedly. He didn't just miss the rain. He missed the feel of Dream's skin. He missed the taste of his lips. He missed how they used to be. He missed what they had. 

George continued, "It really is warm here. Much warmer than London." 

Dream did not speak for a moment. Then he said, in a gentle voice that he used only for George, "What do you mean 'here'?" 

George stilled. 

"George, where are you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my longer chapters. I hope you enjoyed! I'm really starting to love where I want to take this little story, and I hope you're enjoying it as well :]


	4. Know We're Through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George and Dream have an eye-opening phone call.

"George, where are you?"

George froze.

"George?" Dream repeated his name.

"I'm here," said George, closing his tired eyes.

He listened as Dream inhaled a sharp breath. "What?" he gasped out.

George did not answer. He leaned back against the headrest to his seat in his car and let the tears pool in his eyes. He felt them trickle down his cheeks, and he did nothing to stop them.

"George," Dream breathed.

"I'm in Florida, Dream," George confessed. "I'm outside your house. I-- I just couldn't help it," he coughed out. "I couldn't stop myself. It just-- It just happened, I'm sorry, I know you probably don't want to see me--"

Dream interrupted, "What makes you think I would ever not want to see you?" George heard a gentle thud on the other side of the line. "Every minute of every day," Dream said in a quiet, soft tone, "I am only ever thinking about you. About holding you. Feeling you in my hands like you once were. Tracing the shape of your lips. Having your warmth so close to me."

George released a shaky breath. Dream continued, "I've been so cold without you, George. So, so cold."

And he was. George could sense it as his voice flowed through the phone and into his ear. How empty it was. How hollow.

"Come inside," Dream whispered. "Please come inside."

George's lower lip quivered. "I'm scared," he croaked.

"Why are you scared, George?"

"I'm scared I'm going to fall again," George explained. "I'm scared that I never stopped falling."

Dream was silent for a moment. "Then I'll fall with you," he said finally.

"I want to hate you," George said, pulling in his bottom lip with his teeth and chewing on it anxiously. "I want to hate you so much because I'm scared that...that if I don't hate you, I'll love you. And I've already loved you for so, so long."

Dream did not say anything. George heard a creaking sound and footsteps stomping. He said, "Please come inside, George. Please."

George could feel a sob rising in the back of his throat. He pulled the phone from his ear and threw it into the passenger's seat, pulling his knees up to his chest and holding them tight to his body. Why did this have to be so hard? Why did it always have to be so hard with Dream?

He knew he shouldn't go. Dream betrayed him in a way that was...unforgivable. Yet George couldn't understand why he still cared so much. Why did he care about the boy who thought his reputation was worth more than their love? God forbid if the world found out that he could possibly like another man. But that was the whole point, wasn't it? That the world could never know about what he shared with George. About how Dream had basically saved George from the dark only to shove him back into it again once he was done with him.

The moment was so clear in his head, so vivid. Dream, Sapnap and George in a voice call together. George had told them that he would be back because he wanted to get something to eat seeing as he hadn't eaten all day, so he took his headphones off and muted his mic, sprinting down the stairs and directly back up once he obtained a bag of crisps. He had sat down at his desk again and put on his headphones, his mouse hovering over the unmute button. But he did not press it. Sapnap and Dream were mid-conversation.

"I don't know, Sapnap," Dream had said. "I don't know what we're doing. I don't know if it's gonna last."

"What do you mean?" asked Sapnap. George could hear the worry in Sapnap's voice.

Dream had sighed exasperatedly. "I just don't think...I don't think we should say anything yet. To the fans. Or if we should even say anything at all about us..."

"Dream," Sapnap said. "Are you happy with George?"

"Yes, of course, I just... What will everyone think? Of me? Of George? Of you?"

Sapnap scoffed. "Who cares what they think!" he had exclaimed. "If you love him, then why are you making what everyone thinks of you a big deal? Why keep George a secret?"

"It's not that I want to keep him a secret," Dream said. "I just don't think it's the right time for the world to know."

That was when George had disconnected from the call. He'd shut down his computer, and he tossed his phone across the room, listening to it buzz incessantly. Dream was calling him, and he knew that. He knew he wasn't going to answer, no matter how many times Dream would call. He wouldn't answer him. He didn't deserve it.

Even as heartbroken and pained as he was, George found that no tears came to his eyes. Not one. It was very strange for that to happen, when all he wanted to do was curl up on his bed and sob for hours and hours into his knees about the boy he loved more than he loved himself. All he felt was something stoic. Like he was shutting out the feelings desperately banging against the locked gate to his mind. He shut them out remorselessly, knowing they deserved to be let in. But he could not let them in, because if he did, he would lose himself. He would attempt to find refuge in the one place that had once tortured his soul restlessly, thinking this was a sign of love, because how could anyone who loved you ever hurt you?

George hadn't picked up his phone for days after that. He had lost his appetite, but he forced himself to eat every day, even if it was just a little bit. It was enough to keep him going, though he knew it wasn't good for him to feel so hollow all the time. He thought it fitting, somehow. To make his body feel the same way his heart felt.

And now, as he sat in his car with his head in his knees and his phone buzzing the same way it once had with Dream's contact flashing at the top of the screen in what felt like a long time ago, this time he reached over and, shakily, he answered the phone.

"George?" Dream said as soon as George had pressed the green accept button.

"What if you hurt me again, Dream?" George croaked. "I won't be able to forgive you. I won't be able to forgive myself."

"We are real, George," Dream said. "This is real. You and me. And I don't want to lose that. So please," he begged, "if you still care about me at all, even a little bit--please come inside. Please, George."


End file.
